OF ROBOT NANNIES

Dear Spike:

It all began with a 10 p.m. fit of tormented cries. You're teething again — and this time has been particularly tough. Four hours, three locations and zero seconds of sleep later, the pain had subsided, but by this time you were wide awake, bouncing on my lap in the rocking chair as though you were on a carnival ride that you wanted to go faster. Faster. FASTER!!!!!!!

At 2 a.m. I gave in, setting you on the floor of your bedroom to play with your books and toys. I lied down beside you, making a wall of my body, trapping you in the corner of your room between the changer and the desk, and closed my eyes. Ten minutes of half-sleep later I was jarred awake by a loud bang. You'd discovered your favorite pie tin in your toy box. I made you a trade, offering a quiet plush dinosaur in exchange for the noisy pan, and began to doze off again. After another 10 minutes I lifted my eyelid just enough to see that you'd settled down with a book. "Beebo," you cooed as you flipped a page. "Beebo, beebo, beeeeeeeeee-bo!" I chuckled softly and fell back into my semi-slumber.

Another 10 minutes. I opened my eyes to see you sitting inches away, staring at my nose as though you were trying to figure something out. I worried you might be plotting my death and made a quick search of the area for sharp objects before closing my eyes again.

Ten minutes more. You tugged on my ear. Hard.

"Time for sleep?" I asked.

You rubbed your eyes in reply.

I lifted you from the floor and we returned to the rocker. But the fight wasn't over. I rocked you and sang your favorite lullabyes until I couldn't hit but one lonely monotone note.

Rock-a-bye. And-good-night. Sweet-dreams. Sweet-dreams.

As I listened to my own hoarse, staccato singing I imagined myself as the central, soulless character in a science fiction story about a world where parents leave their children in the care of robot nannies. And I wondered whether the robots ever felt this tired.

Ten more minutes. You were still up. Quiet, now, but still very much awake and staring out the window at a whispy snow fall and a slow dancing lilac bush.

Quite beautiful, it was. But I was too tired to appreciate it. And too tired to even recognize how sad that was.

I offered you a bottle. You declined and began to sit up to get a better view of the outside world.

"Why?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. "Oh why? Why? Why?"

Ten more minutes. I looked down to see you sleeping soundly in my arms. Your head was nestled between my bicep and my shoulder. You were softly snoring. A whisp of hair had fallen over your left eyebrow. One hand was grasping my shirt, the other was on your cheek.

"Oh," I whispered, feeling the steel, wire and plastic of my robot heart melt once again into muscle, blood and tissue.

"That's why."

Love,
dad